S&H- The Miracle
by harrimaniac27
Summary: Patient/Paramedic AU- David Starsky is a Paramedic having a slow day at work...and he can't even begin to imagine the repercussions a beautiful blonde named Ken Hutchinson will have on his life when he ends up in the back of his ambulance... (Warning: Pre-slash/Slash) R&Rs are greatly appreciated!
1. Angels and Medics

_Fandom: Starsky and Hutch  
Type: Modern-Day Alternate Universe  
Prompt: Patient/Paramedic AU_

-%-

CHAPTER I- Angels and Medics

Paramedic David Starsky turned down the fire radio behind him and settled deeper into his seat, the sun glinting off of his sunglasses. If he weren't superstitious, he would comment on how slow the day had been, but he'd been around the block enough times to be a believer in jinxes. He finished off the mountain dew from his lunch, the straw making a loud slurping sound. Still, it was nice that he'd had time to have a decent breakfast and lunch, and the only calls he'd gotten that day were a COPD exacerbation and his favourite drunk.

His partner this tour was a brand-new, red-headed EMT Basic named Arich Tippther (who Starsky had fondly nicknamed Tigger due to his bouncy disposition. He called him Tigg for short). Tigg was sitting next to him in the driver's seat of the ambulance, reading a book and happily munching on handfuls from a bag of Cheetos. Starsky regarded the boy for a moment, shaking his head after a while.

Tigg had just finished his field orientation and was what Starsky would call overeager. Not that it made him a bad provider; quite the contrary, Starsky could count on him for a whole lot. He just…really wanted to see major traumas, and the first thing he'd asked Starsky about were all his "cool" patient stories (meaning the gory ones). Starsky had humoured him and told him the gory ones—some of them had pretty good teaching points in them—But most of the time, if you were to ask Starsky about the "cool" calls, he'd happily tell you about that time he'd delivered triplets in the back of a station wagon, or when he'd talked to an actual 90 year old World War II veteran over a four hour long transport to hospice. Those were the stories really worth telling.

Tigg giggled suddenly, shaking Starsky out of his thoughts.

"Sorry. I just really like this book…" Tigg said when he saw that Starsky was looking at him. He showed Starsky the cover: _Sir Apropos of Nothing_. Starsky squinted at the book. What a strange title.

"What's it about?"

"You should read it for yourself, Dave! Wouldn't wanta ruin it for you," Tigg said, shoving another handful of Cheetos into his mouth.

Starsky shrugged. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't." He flicked the bag of Cheetos. "Hey, c'mon Tigg, aren't you gonna share?"

Tigg held the bag out to Starsky. "Take 'em," he said with his mouth full. "I've eaten way too many and this is like my 6th bag."

Starsky laughed as he took the bag and set it in his lap, grabbing a handful for himself.

-%-

The sun was sinking into the west, and the wind had started to pick up. The dark clouds that had started to creep over the city from the east cast a dull, gloomy shadow that was in high contrast to the beautiful reds, golds and purples at the other horizon. Starsky and Tigg had been moved to three different posts and had eaten dinner since their last call, and Starsky silently counted them lucky to have had the downtime. They were due to be off in an hour and a half, but something about the clouds (and the call that just went out on the fire radio) told Starsky that it just wasn't going to happen. Sure enough…

_BEEP BEEP BEEP_. "5059: I need you at San Jose and Marquette for a 29-Bravo-4; San Jose at Marquette, 29-Bravo-4."

Tigg snapped his book shut, started the engine, flipped on the lights, and started to pull out of the parking lot they were staged in. His eyes were wide and excited. Starsky put a hand on his shoulder.

"Cool it, Tigger. Seatbelt."

Tigg took a deep breath and nodded, stopping to put on his seatbelt at the outlet for the parking lot. "Yeah, sorry. Thanks."

Starsky smiled, shook his head, and picked up the radio. "5059, 10-4. We are enroute, code 3," he said, then switched them to med channel 5.

Tigg had good reason to be excited. A 29-Bravo-4 was a traffic accident with unknown injuries. These were often gambles and could range anywhere from a low-speed rear-ending to a vehicle vs pedestrian or bicyclist to a high-speed head-on collision or T-bone. Starsky mentally inventoried all the equipment he might need for the incident as they sped down the road. _Spinal trauma: C-collar, back board, straps and padding. Limb trauma and laceration: Splints, pressure bandages, 5x9s, gauze, tourniquets and ice packs. Shock: Blankets, IV start kit, normal saline, narcs for pain control._

They came up to a red light and Starsky looked up out the window.

"Clear on your right, Tigg," he said.

Tigg chirped the sirens to warn off oncoming traffic and slowly pulled out into the intersection. "Thanks, Dave."

-%-

Their part of the scene wasn't as bad as Tigg had hoped it would be (Not that he wanted people to be critically hurt…he was just eager to use the skills he had learned. Starsky understood. He'd been there before). Police were already on scene controlling traffic and talking to bystanders by the time they arrived. They parked defensively, put on traffic vests, grabbed their gear, and headed towards the engine crew, who were extracting a patient from his car.

From what it looked like, a little red 1995 Nissan Maxima had gone up against a brown 1974 Ford Galaxie and lost. The whole front passenger's side of the Nissan was smashed and the Fire Ambulance was already loading the passenger into their rig while the police talked to the driver. Starsky and Tigg walked over to the Galaxie, which had a smashed-up front driver's side (though definitely not as bad as the Nissan). At least the windshield was somewhat intact and had no spiderwebbing; that was a good sign. The engine crew extricated the patient, a blonde man in a plaid shirt, and set him on the ground. His left foot was angled in an awkward position.

Starsky walked up and knelt next to the man, feeling his face growing hot. This guy would be gorgeous…that is, if he wasn't lying on the asphalt moaning in pain. _Be professional, David_, his brain admonished him.

"Hello, Sir, my name is David Starsky, I'm a Paramedic." He felt for pulses at the wrists and found them strong and rapid. "Can you tell me your name?"

The blonde man was groaning and said, "My leg…oh god, my leg…"

"Don't worry, we're gonna get your leg taken care of, ok?" Starsky said, counting respirations.

"I need vascular access, a blood pressure, a BGL, and somebody on C-spine! And can somebody please get direct pressure on that lac and splint his leg up for me?" Starsky said to Tigg and the Fire guys. They were already working as he turned back to look at the patient.

"Sir, can you tell me your name?"

The blonde man swallowed. "Ken…K-Ken Hutchinson," he said. "Ohh…Oh god, it hurts…"

"Ok, Mr. Hutchinson, If you could rate your pain on a scale of 1-10; ten being the worst pain you've ever felt—"

"Ten, dammit! Ughhhh…it's a ten!" Ken interrupted, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I've never hurt…so much in my life!"

"Ok. I know it hurts and I'm gonna take care of that real soon," Starsky said, taking Ken's hands into his. "But I need to find out a few things first. Could you squeeze my hands, please?"

Ken gave his hands a strong squeeze.

"Good," Starsky said, pinching Ken's pinkies between his own thumbs and forefingers. "Can you tell which fingers I'm touching?"

"Ghh…Pinkies," Ken said, his voice strained.

"Good, you're doing great," Starsky encouraged. "I'm gonna look for other injuries on your body, which means I have to touch you, ok?" Inwardly, he winced at how suggestive that sounded. Once Starsky was sure of the patient's consent, he began palpating Ken's head. Even through his gloves, he could tell that this guy's hair was really soft. He shook his head. _Focus, David. Focus. No deformity or crepitus to the patient's head. Move on to the neck._

"Blood glucose is 99 and blood pressure is 144/98. Distal pulses present, strong and rapid at 120," Tigg interjected.

Starsky thanked Tigg and looked back at Ken. "I'm gonna ask you some questions, alright? Some of 'em may sound a little funny," he said as he palpated the back of Ken's neck for any deformities or step-offs, glad to find it normal. "Do you have any pain in your neck?"

Ken tried to shake his head, but the firefighter that was holding his neck held it steady and told him to relax. Ken waved at him to go away.

"My neck doesn't hurt! Nothing else hurts, it's just my...damn leg!"

Starsky told the firefighter he hadn't found any damage and gave the ok for him to let go. He took out his penlight and leaned over Ken. "Ok, I'm gonna shine a light in your eyes real quick, just look straight up at my forehead, ok? Can you tell me what Holiday's coming up?"

"Mm…Valentine's day?" Ken sounded unsure.

"Yeah, that's right. Very good…"

Starsky was amazed at how stunningly blue this guy's eyes were. He mentally kicked himself. Now was not the time to be checking someone out! He was grateful to see that Ken's pupils were equal and reactive…but he still hadn't ruled out head trauma. He shined the light around Ken's nose and ears looking for any blood or cerebrospinal fluid and was relieved to find none.

"When's your birthday?"

"Ughh...8-28-89—" Suddenly, the firefighter splinting Ken's leg made too sudden of a movement and Ken yelped, grabbing Starsky's sleeve. "Ohh, GOD...Please…my leg…hurts so much…"

"Ok, ok, I'll take care of it; just a couple more questions," Starsky said, rubbing Ken's shoulder reassuringly and taking his hand off his sleeve. He shot a look at the firefighter, making him frown and apologise. He looked back at Ken and rested a hand on his chest.

"I need to look at your chest, ok?"

"Okay."

Starsky felt his face getting hot again as he began unbuttoning Ken's shirt. He _had_ to look at Ken's body to see if there were any other life threatening injuries. He couldn't do that very well with clothes in the way. He _had_ to do it this way. No matter how hot the patient happened to be. He frowned as his shaking hands struggled with the buttons.

"Mr. Hutchinson, Do you know where you are?"

Ken blinked. "Uhh…I'm…mmmhh…I was just in a car accident…I don't—" he grimaced and groaned in pain again. "I don't know the…exact intersection...aghh…"

"Ok, that's fair," Starsky said, finally getting all of the buttons on Ken's shirt undone. "Let me know if anything hurts when I press on it."

He pressed on Ken's clavicles, which were stable, and watched Ken's face for any reaction. He did his best to avoid the red mark Ken's seatbelt had left. Tigg squeezed in and told Ken that he was going to put some cold stickers on his chest that would allow them to monitor his heart. Ken nodded.

"Mr. Hutchinson, do you know whether or not you passed out?" Starsky asked as he pressed on Ken's . It was stable.

"No…" Ken grunted and hissed out a breath. "I've been awake this whole time…Ohh…"

"Did you feel dizzy or faint before the crash?"

"No, I was just..." he grimaced, then continued. "Driving...minding my own business...and she just...ran that red light and plowed into me..."

"Do you remember how fast you were going?"

"I was...turning—ghh...maybe...15 miles an hour?"

"Ok. How long ago was this, do you know?" Starsky asked, pressing in on Ken's ribs and finding them stable.

Ken took a shaky breath. "Can't be more than—ghh…ten minutes since it happened."

"Ok, good. Now, sir, no judgements—please understand that I'm required by my service to ask you this question—have you had anything to drink today?"

Ken shook his head. "No, I haven't had a drink since...last Saturday."

"Ok, good…good," Starsky said, trying not to think about Ken's abs as he palpated his abdomen, which was soft and non-tender. Even under those hard looking abs. Starsky mentally kicked himself again. _Professional. Be professional._

The fire guys had finished with Ken's leg, started an IV, and were getting the gurney ready.

Starsky placed his hands on Ken's hips and rocked his pelvis, making sure it was stable. It was...but...Tigg had cut off Ken's pants, and those bright white y-fronts were…really distracting. Starsky allowed himself to stare for a moment. If anybody asked, he could say he was looking for priapism…but he felt guilty…like it was just a bad excuse for him to ogle the patient. He blinked a few times and spread a blanket over Ken, adjusting his gaze back up towards Ken's face.

"Are you regularly taking any prescription medications, recreational drugs, or homeopathics?" Starsky asked as he began checking Ken's other leg and his arms for fractures. He didn't find any.

Ken squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "No...agh…"

"Ok, last question: Do you have any allergies to certain foods or medications?"

Ken shook his head. "No…ohhh…oh god, it hurts…"

Starsky reached into the Narc bag on his hip. "Alright, sir, I'm going to give you something called Morphine, ok? It's going to help with the pain."

"Ohh, God...ok…" Ken groaned.

"Have you ever had morphine before?" Starsky asked as he drew up the medication.

"No...never..." Ken said.

Starsky slowly injected the medication into Ken's IV port. "Tigg, show 4 mg Morphine on board at..." He paused mid-sentence to read his watch. "6:12 PM." Tigg nodded and wrote down the time on their run sheet.

Starsky turned back to Ken. "Alright, Mr. Hutchinson, you might get a little drowsy...and let me know right away if you start to feel dizzy or nauseous, ok?"

Ken nodded. The firefighters, Starsky and Tigg all knelt around him and Ken felt hands rest on his left hip, leg, and shoulder.

"We're gonna load you up on the gurney ok? This might be a little painful, but it'll be over in two shakes," Tigg said as he grabbed their mega mover out from under the gurney.

"Ok, roll him towards you on my count; ready? One, two, three..."

Ken moaned as the hands pulled him to the side. He was already starting to feel woozy from the medication, but he was still able to feel somebody pressing two fingers along the length of his spine.

"Nothing," Starsky said. He and Tigg bunched up the mover and stuffed some of it underneath Ken's right side, then spread the rest of it out. "Ok, set him down on my count; ready? One, two, three..."

They gently let him down onto the mover and everybody took two handles.

"Ok, Ken, this might get bumpy. On three; one, two, three..."

Ken felt himself being lifted up in the air and set down on something. He moaned when he felt a twinge in his leg, but even in that short amount of time, his pain level had seemed to come down considerably. That paramedic was right, this stuff did make you drowsy...

"Ok, Ken, we're going to put these seatbelts on ya..."

Ken heard the voice, but it sounded far away. "Hokay."

The fire guys buckled Ken in and lifted both him and the gurney up into Starsky's ambulance. Starsky took the captain's chair, filling in more of the run sheet. Tigg thanked the fire guys as they left and poked his head into the box through the side door.

"Need anything before we go, boss?"

"Yeah, Tigg, could you get me another quick BP?" Starsky said, grabbing his stethoscope off the oxygen tree on the wall. He put the bell of the stethoscope between his palms, trying to warm it a bit.

"You got it," Tigg said, hopping into the ambulance and shutting the side door behind him.

"This might be a little cold," Starsky said softly. He lifted the blanket a bit and placed the bell of his stethoscope on Ken's chest, listening to his heart and smiling slightly when he heard a normal heartbeat. He slid the stethoscope across Ken's chest and listened to Ken's breaths in four areas...his lungs were clear. Starsky looked at the heart monitor. Normal sinus rhythm. This guy was lucky...his accident could have been a lot worse. (Fortunately for Starsky, he was so focused at the moment, he didn't notice Ken staring at him the way he was.)

"BP is 136/88, HR 100, Respers down to 20, and he's satting at 98%," Tigg said, putting his own stethoscope back around his neck, taking the pulse oximeter off Ken's finger, and getting up to go to the front.

Starsky smiled at the kid. Leave it to Tigg to get a full set of vitals when he'd only been told to get a blood pressure. "Get outta here and drive," he teased, jerking a thumb towards the cab. "Overachiever."

Tigg chuckled and got out of the box, but stopped before shutting the door. "Where are we going?"

Starsky furrowed his brows...with all the commotion (not to mention emotion), he'd honestly almost forgotten to ask. He put a hand on Ken's shoulder. "Mr. Hutchinson? Ken? Is there a particular hospital you'd like to go to?"

"Queen of Mercy..." Ken said dreamily.

Tigg and Starsky exchanged glances. That one was farther away than Hendrickson University Hospital, but Ken was stable for now, and he was entitled to a choice.

"You heard the man," Starsky said with a shrug. (He didn't mind the extra time at all...Queen of Mercy always had the best snacks.)

"You got it." Tigg shrugged too and shut the side door, running off to the cab.

Starsky sat on the bench seat and pulled the blanket up a little higher over Ken's shoulders. At least the blonde looked more relaxed by now...

"Mr. Hutchinson? Are you comfortable? Are you cold at all?"

Ken didn't answer, he just stared at Starsky with a slight smile on his face. Starsky gently shook his shoulder.

"Mr. Hutchinson? Mr. Hutchinson? Can you hear me?"

Ken blinked at Starsky. "Kinda...hard to hear when you're busy lookin' at an angel..."

Starsky turned as red as a firetruck and blinked at his patient. "...Huh?"

Ken's smile grew wider. "Wow, you're so pretty..."

Starsky tugged at his collar. His professional front was fading fast, but he took a breath and cleared his throat. _Nope.__ I am a prehospital professional.__ I am immune to his charms. _He chanted it in his mind like it was some kind of mantra, hoping he could think it enough times to believe it.

"Uhh..." He cleared his throat again. "Thank you..." Starsky said, awkwardly adjusting the corners of his patient's blanket. "Now, uh...are you comfortable?"

Ken still had that dopey smile on his face. "Yeah..." He was staring up at Starsky like he really _was_ an angel or something.

Oh boy. This was going to be a long transport, Starsky could already tell.

"Ok, good...let me know if you need anything..." He started to get up and move towards the captain's chair, but one of Ken's fingers caught his belt loop.

"Where're you goin', angel?"

"I'll be right back...Mr. Hutchinson." Starsky unhooked Ken's finger from his beltloop (Thank _god_ he'd been able to resist the urge to call him sweetheart). "I gotta call the hospital and let them know you're coming."

"Oh, hokay." Ken said. "But don't take too long...I wanna keep talking to you..."

Starsky's face felt way too hot. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow resisted the urge to turn on the air conditioner. He sat down in the captain's chair and picked up the receiver.

"This is 5059 requesting med channel 2," he said in his most calm, professional radio voice.

"Wow...Your voice is even pretty."

"Hold on, sir, I'm not done talking to the hospital yet."

"Ohh, ok...shhh...right. Sorry." Ken smiled and put his hand over his mouth.

Starsky fought off a laugh. He switched to med channel 2 when he was cleared.

"Queen of Mercy, Queen of Mercy, this is 5059, how do you read?"

"5059; Queen of Mercy. Go ahead."

"Good evening, Queen of Mercy; we are currently enroute to your facility with a stable 26 year old male involved in a motor vehicle accident. Patient has a possible open tib-fib fracture to his left leg. No spinal trauma found; vitals within normal ranges. We have placed a 20 gauge in the right forearm with 250ccs normal saline TKO, and given 4 mg Morphine for pain control. Patient has no past medical history and no known drug allergies. ETA is about 10 minutes. Do you have any questions or orders?"

"No questions, 59. See you in 10."

"See you in 10," Starsky repeated. "5059; clear med channel 2," he said, then switched back to med channel 5.

"Hey, angel?" Ken's voice was soft.

Starsky's ears were burning as he got up and sat on the bench seat next to Ken. This was worse (or better, he wasn't sure yet) than that female patient the other day who had insisted on calling him cupcake.

"Yessir? What is it?"

"What wahzyour name again?"

Starsky blinked. "David Starsky."

"Oh, yeah." Ken said, never taking his eyes off of Starsky. "You know? That kinda sounds like...Star of David..." He ran a finger along the chain around Starsky's neck and chuckled at his own brilliance. "You're Jewish, aren't you?"

"Uh, yeah...good guess," Starsky said, uncomfortably shifting in his seat and hiding the necklace in his undershirt. He shouldn't have let Ken touch him like that, but...hell, other patients had done worse. And he...didn't mind this particular patient's attention so much...in fact, he was enjoying it a little more than he probably should.

"Jewish..." Ken said, pausing for a second while he stared at Starsky as if he were the most interesting painting he'd ever seen. Suddenly, a smirk spread itself across his face and he tried to sit up. "Hey—"

The seatbelts did their job at holding him down, but Starksy put a hand on his chest anyway. "Sir, please sit bac—"

"Are...are you _snipped_ down there, because..._I'm_ not..." He looked down at Starsky's crotch.

Starsky's eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. He usually considered himself someone who had an answer for everything, but right now, he couldn't think of a single solitary thing to say.

"Wai-Wait," Ken put his finger to his lips, made a shushing noise, and then smiled. "Don't answer that...you can...show me later..."

Starsky rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep from smiling. Jeez, had he given this guy too much Morphine or...just enough?

"I'm not snipped," Ken repeated.

"Yes, sir, I heard you the first time."

"Maybe...I'll show you sometime. After you show me yours."

"Get some rest, ok?" Starsky said, still trying to hold onto what was left of his professional attitude. It was all he could do not to agree to Ken's offer. He stood up and went to sit back in the captain's chair.

Ken struggled to look behind him at Starsky.

"How come you keep moving to where I can't see you, angel?"

"I have a little paperwork to finish, ok?" Starsky said, filling in more of the run sheet.

"Why can't you do it over here?"

Starsky's shoulders dropped. He had a choice to make: would he play, or would he stay? He fought off a smile.

"Ok, sir, I'll sit over there if you promise to be quiet and let me finish my paperwork. Can you do that for me?"

Ken settled back into the gurney.

"I'll do anything you say, angel."

Dammit, why did he have to put it _that_ way? Starsky got up with the run sheet and sat back on the bench seat. Ken made an appreciative noise and situated himself so he could stare at Starsky. Starsky buried himself in the paperwork, but he did notice that every once in a while, Ken would nod approvingly like he was agreeing with little inappropriate thoughts in his head.

Starsky didn't know how he did it, but he managed not to smile about it. In fact, he somehow managed to stay stoic and professional the rest of the way to the hospital, though if you asked him how, he wouldn't have an answer.

-%-

They wheeled Ken into the ER, stopped at the nurses station, and gave a small report. It was incredibly busy that night. By the time they got Ken a room, it was after 7 pm, and Ken was dozing off in the gurney.

They wheeled him into his room and shut the sliding glass door. The nurse, one of Starsky's long-time friends, put on some gloves, came over, and put a hand on Ken's shoulder.

"Hey, sweetie, My name's Nancy. I'm gonna be your nurse until 8:00 tonight. We gotta get you moved over to this bed, ok?"

Ken's eyes fluttered open. "Hokay." He looked for Starsky, smiling when he saw he was still there.

"You're in good hands, Ken, Nancy's a great lady," said Starsky. Nancy smiled and shook her head at him. She mouthed "suck up" at him and he smiled at her.

Starsky, Tigg, and Nancy took the gurney's seatbelts off of Ken and let down the guardrails between the gurney and the bed. Ken went to sit up and scoot over, but Nancy stopped him.

"Not so fast, love, let us do the work, ok?"

"Hokay." Ken nodded at her, then looked at Starsky, the dumb smile returning to his face.

Starsky had to fight really hard not to smile back, but the smile still showed in his eyes. He was a little jealous of Nancy's ability to call Ken by pet names in a professional setting, but he put the thought out of his mind as he, Tigg and Nancy grabbed the handles on the mover.

"Ok, on my count," Starsky said. "One, two, three."

They lifted Ken from the gurney and set him on the hospital bed, pulling up the guardrails.

"Ok, now you can help us," Starsky said, tucking the sides of the mover under Ken's side and gestured towards himself with his hand. "Can you roll on your side towards me so we can get this out from under you?"

Ken did as he was told. Nancy helped hold his leg stable and Starsky instinctively put a hand on Ken's waist to stop him from falling back (He tried not to think about how nice it felt to do that). Tigg gently pulled the mover out from under Ken, and Starsky helped Ken lay back down onto the bed. Tigg tore the pink copy off of their run sheet and handed it to Nancy, who took it and started looking over it. Then, Tigg took the gurney out into the hallway and started cleaning the belts and changing out the sheets.

"They'll be coming in to take you to X-ray soon, ok?" Starsky said softly, resisting the urge to brush Ken's hair out of his face. Instead, his hand was resting on the guardrail. He couldn't explain it, but...this patient felt distantly familiar to him, like he had known him forever...

Ken nodded and rested his hand on top of Starsky's. "Hokay."

Starsky smiled softly, a warm feeling slowly spreading through his chest. He suddenly didn't want to leave...but he was soon brought back to reality by Nancy's question.

"Hey, Dave, what's this first blood pressure?" She asked, then whispered, "I can't read Tigg's handwriting..."

Starsky smiled and shook his head, gently taking his hand out from underneath Ken's and walking over to her. He didn't notice Ken frown when he walked away.

Starsky squinted at the pink paper. "144/98," he said after a second. "You're right. The kid has bad handwriting...but then so do I, so I don't have any room to talk."

Nancy laughed at him. "At least I can decipher yours!"

"Yeah, but we were in school together, so that doesn't count!" He countered.

"Ok, fine," She laughed and walked up to Ken, starting to hook him up to the room monitors. "Davey, can I con you into helping me hook him up to the monitor and getting blood samples? I'll buy you a brownie at change of shift?"

Starsky made a face at her and walked over to help. "You drive a hard bargain, Nancy pants."

She laughed at him. "Helps when I know about your weakness for brownies."

Well, that was part of it, Starsky had to admit, but Nancy wasn't the only one he was going to come back and see after he clocked out, that's for sure.

Starsky gave Nancy the full report on Ken after they'd gotten him hooked up to the machines and taken the blood samples (which Starsky had insisted on getting himself). He walked up as he was about to leave and put a hand on Ken's shoulder.

"Gotta go, buddy. You feel better, ok?"

Ken gave him a sad look. "Go? Where?"

Starsky couldn't help smiling this time. "I get off work soon," he said.

"Oh..." Ken looked even sadder.

That look made Starsky's heart hurt. He leaned in a little closer.

"Hey. Don't look so sad. I'm coming back here after 8, ok? I'll come visit ya."

The smile returned to Ken's face. "You promise?"

"Yeah, I promise." Starsky said.

Ken smiled and closed his eyes. "Ok."

-%-

Starsky waved goodbye to Mildred in dispatch as he walked down the hall towards the door to the parking lot. He was putting on his leather jacket when he heard someone call to him.

"Starsky! I'm glad I caught you before you left..."

He looked back to see his supervisor, Mr. Dobey, walking over to him.

"Heya, zero-one, what's going on?"

"I had a question I wanted to ask you about Mr. Tippther...how is he doing on his own?"

Starsky shrugged and stopped walking, leaning on the doorway by the time clock.

"Arich is great. He's an excellent driver, he's eager to learn, and he's always going above and beyond."

Dobey smiled. "That's good, because he told me he's going to paramedic school next semester and asked to switch his schedule to your shift for then. You think he's ready to be a medic?"

Starsky raised a brow. "Which programme is he going into, because if it's the community college one..."

Dobey shook his head. "No, he's going for a bachelor's degree at Hendrickson."

"Oh, then absolutely," Starsky said looking up into space and shaking his head. "I'll have to warn Dr. Maxwell Reed about him...he's teaching Medical Emergencies and Management this year."

Dobey laughed. "Wow, Reed's a doctor now, huh? I remember years ago when he was still a nurse." He shook his head and followed Starsky out towards the parking lot. "You ok keeping Tippther on your weekend shift for a while, then?"

Starsky nodded. "Absolutely. He's a great kid."

Dobey nodded too. "Good. I'll assign him to you tomorrow, then. See you, Starsky."

"Ok, see ya later." Starsky saluted and walked out to his car, a red Torino with a white stripe. Although he knew it was ridiculous, he was glad that Dobey hadn't come up to talk to him about his inappropriate behaviour toward his last patient. It was ridiculous because Dobey couldn't have heard about it yet, and Starsky had managed to hold it together...but something inside him still felt relieved as he drove off towards Queen of Mercy.

-%-

Starsky got to Queen of Mercy right at 8. He was heading for the emergency department when something in the gift shop window caught his eye. It was a little golden figurine of an angel, no bigger than an inch tall. He stared at it through the window for a moment before walking into the shop.

"We're closing!" the elderly owner warned when she heard the bell on the door. She had her back turned and was turning off the "open" signs.

"Yeah, uh, just wanted to get one thing..." He grabbed the angel and set it on the counter.

She looked down at the angel as she walked back behind the counter, a smile spreading over her face.

"Ohh, you have a special someone to go see, don't you?"

Starsky smiled back. "Yes, ma'am, I do." This lady had no idea how right she was.

"Well," she said as she rang up the figurine. "I sure hope they feel better."

Starsky nodded. "Me too."

-%-

Starsky entered the emergency department and walked over to the nurse's station, catching Nancy just as she was finishing up the report on Ken to the other nurse.

"He's due for discharge in three hours when the morphine wears off, and I already made sure he knows his oxy 'scrip is in with his belongings. His roommate's going to come by when she gets off work and take him home."

She looked up and smiled at Starsky when he came up and leaned on the desk.

"Heya, Davey!"

Starsky smiled. "I believe you owe me a brownie."

She laughed. "Ok, let me just finish my signatures and get my stuff, then I will fulfill my promise, ok?"

Starsky smiled and watched her electronically sign her paperwork, grab her bag and run off toward the lounge. Starsky looked over at the room Ken was in...it was dark.

Starsky nodded to the room. "Guy in 12 asleep? I'm the one who brought him in."

The nightshift nurse, Belinda, nodded. "Yeah. He was exhausted."

Starsky nodded. "He had a big day." He stood up and turned towards the room. "I'm just gonna go check on him."

"Ok," Belinda said. "Just–please, don't wake him up!"

Starsky gave her a look and smirked. "What do you think I am, a student?"

She laughed and shook her head as he walked into the room.

He was careful to be quiet as he walked up to the bedside. Ken was fast asleep...and suddenly Starsky wondered why Ken had called _him_ an angel when really _Ken_ was the one who looked like an angel...His face was beautifully symmetrical—he had a straight nose and a strong jaw—and the dim light from the doorway accentuated it perfectly. His soft blonde hair was swept to the left across his brow and curled into ringlets around his ears and at the back of his neck. Starsky resisted the urge to touch it.

He closed his eyes and took a step back, suddenly getting an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was already in too deep. It was against what seemed like every unwritten rule in EMS (and even a few of the written ones) to get attached to a patient, and Starsky knew he was breaking all of them. But...he felt connected to this man somehow; like he was supposed to be near him. Like he'd known him forever. And this connection he felt was so strong, it was actually scaring him. He took a shaky breath and reached into his pocket, pulling out the angel figurine. He frowned at it. He shouldn't have bought it. _And yet_...he looked back at Ken sleeping peacefully in his bed and put the figurine on the counter next to Ken's belongings.

"See you around, Ken," Starsky whispered, turning to leave. He wanted to turn back, to wait by Ken's bed, but he suddenly knew he _needed_ to leave. If he stayed, he knew he wouldn't _ever_ leave.

"There you are!" Nancy said, walking up to him and taking his arm as he walked out of Ken's room. "Come on, I owe you a brownie!"

Starsky smiled at her. Maybe a brownie would help with the empty feeling in his stomach.

-%-

_AN: _Before you get mad at me for ending it here, know that I plan on posting one more chapter for this! I also hope this wasn't too technical! I work as an EMT and I'm currently studying to become a paramedic, so I wanted to write this as a sappy love story with a kind of way for people to see what we EMTs do. Sadly we don't always get really hot patients, but every once in a while, there'll be one to watch out for. If you have no clue what some of these things were, I have written a glossary in hopes that it might help and I apologise for all of my crazy medical field lingo. D:

GLOSSARY OF TERMS:

_EMS_: Emergency Medical Services

_Paramedic_: So far, the highest level of licensure for prehospital healthcare technicians

_EMT Basic_: The second-lowest level of licensure for prehospital healthcare technicians (above EMR; which is a first responder)

_COPD_: Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder. Or, A fancy anagram for "bad lungs"

_Narcs_: narcotic medications (usually for pain control or sedation)

_Vascular access_: start an IV

_BGL_: blood glucose level

_C-spine_: cervical vertebra in the spine (neck)

_Lac_: short for laceration or deep cut

_Crepitus_: the crunchy or grinding feeling of a broken bone

_Gurney_: the ambulance cot

_Priapism_: from the greek _Priapus_; unusual erection denoting spinal cord injury

_Homeopathics_: holistic/herbal medications and home-remedies

_Mega mover_: a reinforced tyvec sheet with handles on it designed to move patients

_Normal Sinus Rhythm_: a heart rhythm generated by the heart's normal pacemaker, the sinoatrial node.

_Respers_: EMT slang for respiration rate

_Pulse oximeter_: device that measures how much oxygen is on your red blood cells; value is known as an oxygen saturation

_Satting_: EMT slang for patient's oxygen saturation

_Tib-fib fracture_: a fracture to the two bones of the lower leg, the Tibia (the big one in the middle) and the Fibula (the small one on the outside).

_18 gauge_: a commonly used size of IV needle

_250ccs_: 250 millilitres of fluid

_TKO_: "To Keep Open"; also said as KVO or "Keep Vein Open".

_ETA_: "Estimated Time of Arrival"

_Oxy 'scrip_: short for Oxycontin Prescription

Special thanks to leoblooms for the inspiring art and some of the dialogue for the ambulance scene. XD


	2. Deja Vous

Fandom: Starsky and Hutch

Type: Modern-Day Alternate Universe

Prompt: Patient/Paramedic AU

-%-

CHAPTER II- Deja Vous

It had been six weeks since Starsky had left that figurine on the counter, and he had thought about Ken Hutchinson every day since. He had tried to forget about it...put it out of his mind...but nearly every time he closed his eyes, he would see that soft blonde hair and that dopey smile and he'd be right back to thinking about him again. Maybe he was thinking about it even more than normal that day because he and Tigg had been assigned to truck 59 again. Starsky sighed and watched the colours of the sunrise slowly change.

"You're doing it again," Tigg said after a while.

Starsky looked at him. "What?"

"Sighing and staring wistfully off into space like you can't get your mind off of someone?" Tigg suggested with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Starsky shook his head. Tigg was getting to be extremely perceptive.

"Sorry," was all that Starsky could think to say.

"Doesn't bother me," Tigg said with a shrug. "You need some coffee?"

Starsky smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but dispatch beat him to it.

_BEEP BEEP BEEP_. "5059, you can move to Uptown. Level 14."

Starsky smiled wider and picked up the radio. "10-4, thank you, dispatch." He hung up the radio. "Mildred, you're beautiful! Let's go to Brownbear's on Montaño, Tigg."

Tigg smiled and started the rig. "You got it."

-%-

"Starsky! Eyy, how's it going, brother?"

"Huggy Bear! How's it goin?"

Starsky and the barista bumped fists and then hugged across the narrow counter.

"Man, where you been? They keeping you off of my post, or what?" Huggy asked.

"They've had us on southeast nonstop for just about two weeks!" Starsky said, pointing to the south.

"Now, that just ain't fair..." Huggy said, shaking his head. "You gettin' your usual?" He asked.

"Sure," Starsky said. "And throw one in for Tigger over here, I'll buy him whatever he wants."

Tigg raised his brows and smiled. "Really? Wow, thanks!"

Huggy chuckled. "Large house blend for Starsky, Anita!" He called behind him. "How 'bout you, kid?"

"Uhh, can you do a large...iced...uh, London Fog?"

Huggy looked impressed. "Kid's got worldly taste," he said aside to Starsky. "Large London Fog on ice for Tigger," he called back.

-%-

Starsky and Tigg got their drinks a while later and decided to sit near the window to enjoy the morning sun while they could. Tigg brought in a book to read and Starsky was lost in his own thoughts as he took sips of his coffee. No matter how hard he tried not to think about it, he could still see Ken's face in his mind's eye as if he had just seen him yesterday. He couldn't tell which was warming him from the inside, the coffee or the memory of Ken's dopey grin as he lay there, gawked at him, and called him an angel. Starsky almost laughed at the memory. It had been pretty hard to keep it from getting in the way of things, but every once in a while, like right then, he'd let himself think about it—let the memory brighten his day.

Suddenly, a vaguely familiar voice caught his ear.

"I'd like a medium house blend, please."

Starsky's mouth fell open as he looked back at the counter and saw the same blonde curls that had been haunting his dreams for weeks. He considered getting up...but he hesitated. What if he didn't remember him? What if he hadn't meant all those things he'd said? He _had_ been medicated at the time... So Starsky sat there with a blank look on his face, a fierce argument raging in his mind about whether or not he should get up and say hello.

Ken slowly walked past the counter after ordering his drink. Starsky watched him with his eyebrows furrowed, finally (and reluctantly) deciding against getting up and talking to him.

_It's been six weeks_, Starsky told himself, turning back to face the table. _He probably doesn't even remember me_. The thought made him miserable.

Ken turned around and looked at the tables, trying to decide where to sit. Suddenly, a mess of dark, curly hair caught his eye and his hand closed on the little angel figurine in his pocket. It had been in his pocket since the day he'd noticed it on the counter of his hospital room. He still wasn't sure why, but it reminded him of the paramedic who had helped him. Ken's memories of him were fuzzy at best, but he remembered that hair, for sure. He fiddled with the figurine in his pocket, trying to decide whether or not to go say hello. _What if he isn't the right one? What if he is, but he doesn't remember me?_

Ken took the figurine out of his pocket and looked at it. He had to_ at least_ give it a shot.

Starsky was staring into his coffee cup, comparing it to a black hole, when he heard someone clear his throat behind him. He looked up, heat immediately rushing to his cheeks when he saw who it was.

"Um, hi..." Ken said. "You...took me to Queen of Mercy a few weeks ago, right?"

Starsky stood up, feeling a fluttering in his chest. "Uh, yes. Hi. I-Uh—I'm surprised you recognised me! How are you feeling?"

They reached out to shake hands.

"Better, thanks," Ken said, moving his cast-less leg. "Just got the cast off two days ago."

Starsky smiled. "That's great!"

Ken gave Starsky a sheepish look. "I'm sorry, I...don't remember your name."

They were still shaking hands.

"Oh, that's alright, we gave you a lot of morphine," Starsky said with a little laugh. "I'm David Starsky."

Ken smiled. "Ken Hutchinson, but my friends call me Hutch."

"Hutch," Starsky said, smiling. "They call me Starsky. Nice to meet you again."

Tigg raised a brow and peered at the two over the top of his book. They were _still_ shaking hands.

"I uh..." Hutch finally (and reluctantly) let go of Starsky's hand and pulled the figurine from his pocket, looking fondly down at it. "I...still have this. I wanted to thank you for it." He looked back up at Starsky. "You're the one who left it on the counter, right?"

Starsky blinked at the figurine. "Yeah, that was me..." He couldn't believe Hutch had actually kept it...He'd honestly never expected to see it again.

Hutch looked at the figurine as he turned it in his fingers. "Uhh...I don't really remember what happened in the ambulance, but...I vaguely remember you telling my nurse that I said some things while I was medicated..."

Starsky suddenly felt sweaty.

"Nothing weird, I hope?" Hutch said, looking at him with one eyebrow raised and a little smile playing at his lips.

"Weird!?" Starsky said, his voice coming up an octave and then coming back down again. "No...no. Nothing weird," he laughed a little.

He hesitated, his brain telling him not to do what he was about to do, but his heart winning the battle by a long shot. He was bright red as he reached into his pocket for his coffee receipt.

"Uhh, but...you did, uh, ask me to show you something..." He took out his pen and scribbled something on the back of the receipt, handing it to Hutch. "So, uh...here. Just in case you still wan—"

Suddenly, the radio on Tigg's belt went off.

_BEEP BEEP BEEP_. "5059. I need you at Charles and Montclaire for a 31-delta-1. Charles at montclaire; 31-delta-1."

Starsky blinked; he wasn't ready to go back to reality so soon!

"I gotta go," he said, looking apologetically at Hutch. "Uh, see you around?"

"Yeah. Go ahead. It's ok, I understand," Hutch said, smiling. "I'm a cop."

Starsky smiled back at him. The more he learned about this Hutch, the more he liked him.

"Come on, Starsky, let's go!" Tigg said excitedly, bouncing out the door with so much gusto, he almost spilled what was left of his drink.

"Bye," Starsky said, grabbing his coffee and following his partner out the door.

Hutch smiled as he watched the two run (or bounce, in the redhead's case) to the ambulance and head off. He smiled for a moment, looking at the place where they had been parked. Then he remembered he had the coffee receipt in his hands and looked down at it. A phone number was scrawled on it, along with the following message:

"I get off at 7:30 tonight. Call me?"

Hutch smiled wider. He was so happy, he almost forgot that he'd ordered coffee.

-%-

Starsky sat in his car in the parking lot, watching the way the lights from the lampposts changed as they shone through the dancing trees. He was actually nervous. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this nervous about a phone call. Of course, he'd never really dreamt about somebody this much before, so he figured that had something to do with it. He checked his watch for what seemed like the 70th time. 7:29. Boy, he wished he could make the time go by faster.

Suddenly, his phone rang. Starsky's hands were shaking so bad, he almost couldn't answer it; he fumbled with the phone for a moment before he was finally able to hit the send button.

"H-hello?"

"Starsky?"

Starsky smiled like an idiot when he heard that voice.

"Hey, Hutch..."

"A-are you...off yet? I'm sorry I couldn't wait one more minute..."

Starsky raised his brows. "Yeah! No, it's ok, I'm off now!"

"Oh, good! I...uh...well-uh, how are you?"

Starsky chuckled a little. "I'm terrific, how about you?"

"I'm fantastic! Well, at least...now that I'm talking to you, I am."

Starsky looked pleased. "Oh, well...thank you!" He couldn't stop smiling.

There was a pause on the other end. Neither of them spoke for a second while they tried to think of something to say. Hutch finally broke the silence.

"Um, I was wondering if you...wanted to come over and have a drink or something?"

Starsky held onto his own elbow.

"Uh-Sure! Sure. Where do you live?"

"On Venice Place off of Candelaria. Just past Brighton Street. The house number is 5372."

Starsky nodded. "I know exactly where that is! I'll...be there in ten?"

"Great! I'll see you then," Hutch said. Starsky could hear Hutch's smile through the phone.

-%-

Starsky stood in front of the brick house on Venice Place and ran a hand through his hair. He brought his hand up to the doorbell and hesitated, feeling that fluttering feeling in his chest. He shook his head. He was a paramedic for god's sake...He could hold the hand of a dying man and make life-saving decisions in a fraction of a second, and here he was, afraid to ring the doorbell at the house of a man he'd been dreaming about for six weeks.

He reached back up and went to knock on the door this time, but to his surprise, it opened and he looked up to see Hutch's smiling face. He laughed and hung his head.

"How long were you standing there?"

Hutch laughed. "Ohh...for a while."

Starsky tried to frown, but the situation was too funny, so he ended up with something halfway between that and a smile. He looked up at Hutch after a while, who was standing there just smiling at him.

Starsky looked around, then looked back up at Hutch again. "Can I...come in, maybe?" Starsky asked with a smirk.

Hutch looked surprised for a moment, then closed his eyes and shook his head when he noticed he was blocking the door. "Oh, god, yes, I'm sorry. Please." He stepped aside and gestured for Starsky to come in.

Starsky smiled at Hutch as he brushed past him into the house. Hutch smiled back as he closed the door and followed Starksy, who was now standing in the living room, looking around. There were plants in every nook and crevice and almost every wall was covered in books.

"Nice place you got here."

"Thanks," Hutch said, walking toward the kitchen. "We're just renting it...the furniture belongs to our landlord...Can I get you something to drink? We have...coffee, beer, wine..."

Starsky followed him. "Uh, sure...a beer sounds great!"

Hutch smiled and walked over to the fridge, grabbing two beers and shutting the door. He popped off the caps on a bottle opener that was mounted to the wall and gestured invitingly towards the kitchen table, handing a beer to Starsky as they walked over and sat down.

"So," Starsky said, pausing to take a sip of his beer. "You're a cop."

Hutch nodded. "Guilty as charged." He took a sip of beer too. He gestured to his leg. "I'm sure glad I'm finally done being a desk jockey."

Starsky nodded. "I know the feeling...two years ago, I fell off a ladder and had to work in dispatch for four weeks."

"Ouch!" Hutch made a face and took another drink of his beer. "And dispatch is the worst! You have to take calls and you—"

"You can't do anything about it!" They said simultaneously. They laughed and took drinks of their beer.

"So, tell me, Hutch," Starsky said, leaning closer to him at the table. "I don't exactly see a shortage of law enforcement professionals in my line of work, so why haven't I seen you around?"

Hutch looked into his beer bottle and shrugged. "You know, I _just_ moved here from Minnesota eight weeks ago." He looked up at Starsky. "I wasn't here for two weeks and somebody plowed into me with their car."

"Wow..." Starsky shook his head and took another sip of beer. "Welcome to California."

"Hah! Thanks," Hutch said sarcastically, shaking his head, too. He lifted his beer bottle. "It's a pleasure to be here..."

Starsky smiled and looked down at his bottle. Hutch looked great tonight...even better than Starsky remembered him...which was good, of course—the last time he'd seen him, he hadn't been having the best of days. But...Starsky looked up at him and watched him take a drink of his beer...The day they met didn't seem that long ago. Sure, a month and a half had come and gone, but...that familiar feeling was back, and Starsky almost felt like he'd never been away from this man.

He tried to think of something to say and settled on making small-talk.

"So, uh..." he said, swishing his beer around in circles. "How long have you been a cop?"

Hutch thought for a moment. "I was a cop in Minnesota for about...four years," he said.

Starsky nodded, looking interested. Then he furrowed his brows. "Why'd you decide to come all the way out to California?"

Hutch smiled. "I decided to fly south because I was sick of shovelling 12 feet of snow off my driveway every winter."

Starsky made a face. "12 feet?! I don't think I've ever seen that much snow in my whole life..."

Hutch laughed and shrugged. "Well. I _was_ exaggerating. A little. But it's not uncommon to get six feet on a regular basis where I lived up in the mountains. For months, I had to wake up four hours early just so I could have enough time to shovel a path out into the road for my car, and that's on top of getting ready and eating breakfast."

Starsky shook his head. "I don't think I could handle that. I get frustrated if I need to use my ice scraper in the morning."

Hutch snorted. "Yeah...You guys don't seem well-equipped for winter weather around here."

Starsky shook his head. "Nope. Definitely not. I don't even think we have a snowplow in this state...If we ever _do_ need one, it probably has to be driven down from Oregon. And by the time it gets here, it'll have to turn right back, 'cos the snow's probably already melted."

Hutch laughed hard. He wasn't expecting Starsky's words to be so funny, but something about the way he said them really got him in the right place. Starsky watched Hutch laugh and smiled. Hutch was beautiful when he laughed. Starsky couldn't know for sure—but somehow he _did_ know—that Hutch rarely laughed hard like that, and to see it now was immensely satisfying. The only thing Starsky could think of that described the feeling was...that it was like coming home. Which didn't make any sense, sure, but...strangely, it was the _only_ thing that made sense.

When he was able to breathe again, Hutch sighed and shook his head.

"Wow...that "no snowplow" thing definitely wouldn't fly in Minnesota..." He said, taking a drink of his beer. "Where I used to live, almost everybody had trucks with their own plow attachments. You almost _needed_ one if you wanted to get down into the valley early in the morning."

Starsky shook his head. "Wow. I definitely don't blame you for moving here."

"Yeah..." Hutch nodded. "Besides, BCPD has better insurance benefits."

Starsky laughed. "Aha. I knew there was an ulterior motive somewhere in there."

Hutch laughed too. "And...you know. I just needed a change of scenery."

Starsky looked at him. "But why _here_ exactly? If you wanted a desert, you could have moved to New Mexico or Arizona...why us?"

Hutch shrugged. "I honestly don't know. I guess I just...felt drawn here by something..."

His eyes met Starsky's for a moment and he quickly looked down, hoping he wasn't too red-faced. Starsky's heart rate jumped up a few beats and he suddenly felt the urge to reach out and touch Hutch, but he hesitated and decided to wait...he wanted to see what Hutch would do. The two men were quiet for a moment while they took drinks of their beer. Hutch finally cleared his throat and broke the silence.

"So..." He bit his lip and took the angel figurine out of his pocket. "I'm curious...why'd you buy me an angel?"

Starsky looked at his hands and fought off a smile.

"Well, um..." He unconsciously licked his lower lip. "Y—well...when we met, you said I looked like an angel...and then you kept calling me 'angel' cos you couldn't remember my name and...it just reminded me of you."

Hutch smiled and closed his eyes. "Oh, god. I did?"

"Yeah..." Starsky laughed and smiled at Hutch. "It was...very flattering."

Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose, failing to conceal his big smile. "Anything else I did I should know about?"

Starsky opened his mouth and closed it again. "Uhh...well..." He laughed nervously.

Hutch put his hand down and gave him a half-concerned-half-amused look. "What'd I do? You told me it wasn't weird!"

"It wa—" Starsky stopped to laugh. "It wasn't weird, it was..." He trailed off, trying to think of the right word. "Look, a lot of people get loopy when they're on morphine..."

Hutch just kept giving him that look...although it was a little more than half-concerned now.

Starsky turned a deep red. He stared at a spot on the table, his face losing to the smile he was trying to fight off.

"Well...you, uh...guessed correctly that I'm Jewish."

Hutch closed his eyes, then he blinked and tried not to smile. He looked down and nodded at the table as if he could see where this was going.

"And...you said I...asked you to show me something, right?"

Starsky just nodded.

Hutch looked down at the floor and wrung his hands.

"Did it...have anything to do with the fact that...you're Jewish?"

Starsky slowly nodded.

"And did it have anything to do with the fact that Jewish boys have a certain...procedure...done when they're very young?"

Starsky didn't think he could get any redder, but if he could, it would be now.

"I...W—yeah." Starsky said, nodding and taking a large drink of his beer. There really wasn't any sugar-coating it.

Hutch laughed nervously. "Oh my god."

Starsky scratched the back of his head. "And you, uh...thought it was very important to _tell_ me that you, uh...did not, in fact, have that procedure done_..._"

Hutch winced and smiled at the same time.

"—Twice."

Hutch put his hands over his face and rubbed his eyes.

"I am..._so sorry_," he said, his voice muffled by his hands.

Starsky shrugged and laughed. "I don't know; I'm not complaining." He took a drink of his beer and then took a breath. "Besides, you're kinda...beautiful when you're embarrassed."

Hutch peeked at him from behind his hands, then put them down, trying to look reproachful...but he didn't, not with that big smile on his face. Starsky smiled back at him.

Hutch avoided Starsky's eyes as he tried to get up the courage to talk again. He couldn't stop smiling. He stole a look at Starsky when he wasn't looking. He had to admit...he _did_ want Starsky to show him. But...was it too soon? Shouldn't they be taking it slower? He stole another glance at Starsky, blushing and looking away when he caught Starsky looking back at him. He couldn't explain it, but he really felt like he'd known this guy forever. And because of that, he didn't really feel like taking it slow. But he did want to draw it out...just a little longer...he just had to figure out how...

Starsky thought it was ironic that he couldn't look Hutch in the eye just moments earlier, and now he couldn't take his eyes off him. He couldn't tell if it was the dim light from the kitchen or the glint he'd just seen in Hutch's eye, but that urge to reach out and touch him was getting stronger by the minute...and he couldn't help thinking how lucky he'd been to be allowed to touch him before. He let his gaze rest on Hutch's lips. Those lips had haunted his dreams for weeks...and right now, he wanted nothing more than to kiss them.

Suddenly, Hutch snapped, waking Starsky from his reverie.

"Oh, I almost forgot..."

He walked back over to the fridge and took out a long pan covered in tin foil. Starsky's curiousity was piqued and he craned his neck trying to look over the bar at what Hutch was doing, but he just couldn't see. Hutch did something at the stove under the bar counter, then put the pan back into the refrigerator. Hutch waited by the stove, and after a while, the rich smell of chocolate filled the air. Hutch took a plate out of the cabinet and put whatever smelled so good onto it, walking back into the kitchen table. Starsky smiled as he saw what was on the plate. Brownies.

"Hey..." he said. "Those look terrific."

Hutch laughed and took a brownie for himself before pushing the plate closer to him. Starsky reached for a brownie, but he stopped with his hand hovering over the plate, mesmerised by Hutch. He just watched as the blonde took a bite and licked some chocolate off of his lower lip. Starsky couldn't tell which was making his mouth water more...Hutch or the smell of the brownies. He slowly smiled and took a brownie when he realised he didn't _care_ which...the important part was that he was thoroughly enjoying himself...more than he had in a long time.

"I...came home and felt like baking these after I saw you this morning," Hutch said suddenly.

Starsky blinked. "Did you...bake these for me?"

Hutch laughed. "Yeah," he shrugged. "For some reason, I'm pretty sure you're the kind of guy that likes brownies."

Starsky smiled and took a bite of the brownie. He was pleasantly surprised...it was easily the best brownie he'd ever had...not that he thought they'd be bad, they were just better than he'd imagined they might be. He closed his eyes and savoured the rich taste. "Mmmm..."

Hutch smiled. "I'm glad you like them."

"Wow..." Starsky said after a few bites. "You know, Hutch...if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to butter me up or something..."

Hutch laughed and a mischievous grin grew over his face.

"...Or something."

Starsky looked up at Hutch and smirked. He already liked where this was going. Something flickered behind his eyes and he gave Hutch a hungry look. He hesitated, trying to decide whether or not he should say what had just come to his mind. Well, he wasn't in the back of his ambulance anymore. He didn't really have to watch what he said, so now he could say what he'd wanted to say six weeks ago.

"Mister Hutchinson, are you trying to seduce me?"

Hutch was smiling, his cheeks were bright red, and his eyes were desperately hanging onto a spot he'd found on the table, but he finally got up the courage to look Starsky right in the eye.

"Is it working?"

So much for taking it slow.

Starsky couldn't take it any longer. The urge to touch Hutch had become too powerful for him to resist (More powerful, even, than his liking for brownies...and for Starsky, that was saying a lot). He put down his brownie and leaned forward, placing a hand under Hutch's chin and a gentle kiss on his lips.

Hutch made a little sound and put his arms around Starsky, who scooted his chair closer so he could put his arms around Hutch's waist. They kissed again and again, neither wanting to stop. Starsky's heart was pounding and he almost felt as though he'd suffocate if he stopped kissing Hutch. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself within Hutch.

He felt Hutch's fingers tugging at the buttons on his shirt and allowed his hands to slide forward and play with the button fly on Hutch's pants.

"Do you...believe in sex...on the first date?" He asked between kisses.

Hutch didn't answer him for a second...he was too busy kissing him. But after a few minutes, he reluctantly pulled away a bit so he could look at Starsky.

Starsky was staring back at him, breathing hard; a questioning, hopeful look on his face that made Hutch want to go right back to kissing him. He smiled.

"Can't really call this our first date," he said in a low voice, running a finger along the length of chain around Starsky's neck as he'd done in the ambulance the day they'd met. "Can we, angel?"

Hutch's touch was like fire. Starsky's mind was racing, wondering just how much of their ambulance ride Hutch really remembered. He couldn't resist popping the first button on Hutch's fly and leaning forward to kiss his neck.

"No, I guess we can't..." He said, trailing a few more kisses down Hutch's neck. He undid a button on Hutch's shirt so he could reach more of his neck, enjoying the way the dim light accentuated his external jugular vein (Starsky inwardly laughed at himself. Only a paramedic would notice something like that).

Starsky let out a low, gravelly groan when he felt Hutch's hand slowly rubbing against the bulge at the front of his pants. He buried his nose in Hutch's neck and kissed him some more. How could Hutch know so well how he liked to be touched? They hadn't known each other for that long...and yet, Hutch's touch seemed so familiar.

Hutch began unbuttoning Starsky's shirt, stopping every once in a while to pay his crotch some attention. How could Hutch know that this game of start-and-stop would drive him absolutely crazy? And how did Starsky know that Hutch liked to play that game? Starsky kissed Hutch's lips and then trailed kisses down the other side of his neck, earning himself some absolutely intoxicating noises from Hutch.

Starsky slid his hands down Hutch's hips and let them rest at his ass. He wondered if he should say something about how familiar this felt. He almost didn't want to, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"You feel like...we've done this before?" he whispered.

Hutch looked up at him. "I think..." He paused and stared into Starsky's eyes. He knew that look...almost as well as he knew his own face. It was as if he had seen that look a thousand times before. He knew that Starsky wanted him...and that he loved him. But how could he know that? How could Starsky love him when they barely knew each other? But somehow, he knew in his heart it was true.

"I know we have," he said finally.

Starsky nodded. So Hutch felt it too. This went way beyond that day in the ambulance, and at that moment, they both knew it. They smiled at each other and leaned forward to kiss. It felt like coming home after a long journey away, and it was as if they both couldn't wait to show the other how much he missed him.

Hutch finished with the buttons on Starsky's shirt and pulled it down over his shoulders. Starsky quickly freed his arms from the sleeves and popped open the remaining buttons on Hutch's pants.

Hutch rubbed the front of Starsky's jeans a little harder, enjoying the low groan it earned him.

"Now, You...had something you wanted to show me?" Hutch whispered into Starsky's ear.

Starsky chuckled. "I think _you're_ the one who wanted me to show you..." He said with a smirk. "But I'd be more than happy to oblige."

-%-

"So..." Tigg said, turning the engine off and looking at his partner. "How'd it go?"

Starsky blinked at Tigg in the early morning sun. "How'd what go?"

Tigg lowered his sunglasses and gave Starsky a look. "Oh come on, Dave. Don't think I didn't notice you giving your number to that guy last shift."

Starsky smirked at his partner. "Oh, that."

Tigg gave him an incredulous look. "_Oh, that_?! Uh...details, please?!"

Starsky laughed and shook his head. "Gossip is for gals, Tigg."

Tigg sighed. "But you two met up, right?!"

"Yeah," Starsky said.

Tigg waited impatiently. "_Well_?!"

Starsky blinked at him again. "_Well_ what?"

Tigg took off his sunglasses and dropped them onto the seat, pointing a finger at the medic.

"Dave, that guy was practically _drooling_ over you when we picked him up, and you were getting all...y'know, flustered...and he called you _angel_...then we just _happen_ to meet him in a coffee shop and it turns out you _bought _him a _fucking angel thing_ and gave him your number?! _Come on, Dave_! I _have_ to know how this story turns out!"

Starsky took a long drink of his coffee. "You ask too many questions, kid," he said with a smirk.

"_Daaaave_. You're killing me here!" Tigg whined. "You're a paramedic. You're supposed to save people, not kill them!"

Starsky laughed and settled back into his chair. "No, I'm supposed to save patients. But _you're_ my partner. Your pain is my power."

Tigg groaned. "Dammit Dave, just tell me: _did you two bang_!?"

Starsky smirked and quietly took another drink of his coffee.

Tigg punched his arm. "_Daaviid_!"

Starsky turned to him with an innocent look on his face. "What?"

"Don't you '_what_' me, David Starsky!" Tigg growled. "Tell me what happened! It's been seven damn weeks, and I have been very patient about this!"

Starsky couldn't help but laugh at the kid. Suddenly, dispatch cut their one-sided conversation short.

_BEEP BEEP BEEP_. "5051. PD needs you at 8375 Fremont, cross street Ethilyn, for a 4-Alpha-1. 1-3-7-5 Fremont at Ethilyn; 4-Alpha-1. PD is on-scene."

Tigg sighed again and turned on the engine, putting the rig in gear and pulling towards the outlet of the parking lot.

"5051, 10-4, we are enroute, code 1," Starsky said into the radio. He switched them to med-channel 5. "5051, base. Request any supplemental information on Fremont at Ethilyn 4-Alpha-1, please."

"Base, 5051; copy. Sending now."

"5051; 10-4, base, thank you."

He waited patiently for the supplemental info to upload to his computer, then looked it over.

"Two patients...PD expects drug involvement, Tigg."

"Ooh..." Tigg raised a brow. "You might get to use some diazepam..."

Starsky chuckled. "We'll see how well-behaved everybody is. If we need Narcan, though, you can push it."

"Yesss."

They were quiet for a while as Tigg drove west. He looked at Starsky when they stopped at a red light.

"...You _are_ gonna tell me what happened, though, right?"

Starsky smirked. "We'll find out when we get there, Tigger."

Tigg's shoulders dropped and he gave the medic a look. "You _know_ what I mean, David."

Starsky ignored the comment. "It's the house in the far back, by the way."

"Ughh, you...frikken..._tight-lipped_—" Tigg muttered as he accelerated through the green light. "I _will_ find out...somehow..."

Starsky smiled wide and fought off a laugh.

-%-

They arrived at a dilapidated-looking house on the far side of town. The front yard was overgrown with tall weeds, and the house number was so faded, they could barely make out the 8375. Tigg parked the rig next to the police cruiser in the dusty, gravel driveway and he and Starsky got out, grabbing their airway kit, the gurney and the jump-bag.

As they approached the house, a dark-haired police officer, whom Starsky recognised as George Welles, appeared at the door, beckoning for them to come through.

"Assault?" Starsky asked.

"Nope, not really. Third party called when they heard breaking glass, but one of 'em's probably just hyped up on something. We got two guys in here; one of 'em is semi-zonked-out on the couch, and my partner's taking care of the combative one in the back room. He'll be ready for you in a sec."

Starsky nodded at Welles and thanked him as they walked into the house. There was garbage everywhere and it smelled like urine, weed, bad beer, and old socks. They saw the first patient on the couch, and Tigg walked over to him.

"Sir, my name is Arich. I'm an EMT and I'm here to help you out. Can you hear me?"

The patient groaned and his eyes were rolling back into his head. "..._Muthafucka_..." He slurred, his breath smelling strongly of cheap beer.

Tigg nodded. "Ok," he gave the guy a sternal rub. "What's your name, buddy?"

The patient groaned like a zombie, but he did finally look at Tigg. "_Fffffuckkyuuu_."

"Ok, man. Nice to meet you, too." Tigg said, shaking the guys limp hand as he got a pulse rate and taking notes on his run sheet. "What's going on, man? Did you have too much to drink today?"

"_Nuuuhh_."

"Did you take any drugs today, buddy?"

"..._fffffuckyuuuuu_..."

Tigg nodded. "I'll take that as a yes," he muttered, getting the pulse oximeter out of the jump bag. He put the pulse oximeter sensor on the guy's middle finger. "Leave this on your finger, ok, man?"

Tigg was thankfully able to get a reading before the patient ripped it off. Tigg shook his head as he wrote down the oxygen sat and turned off the machine. He got out the BP cuff and put it on the patient's arm.

"I'm gonna take your blood pressure, ok? It's just gonna squeeze your arm and then it'll be over."

"_Neeeeh_."

"Yup. I get it, buddy." Tigg took the blood pressure and wrote it down, taking the cuff off the guy's arm. He checked the guy's pupils really quick, finding them equal, round and reactive. He got the glucometer and an alcohol prep out.

"I'm gonna see how much sugar is in your blood right now, ok, buddy?" He said as he cleaned one of the patient's fingers with the prep. The patient tried to pull his finger away.

"Dude, it'll be over in a second, ok? I need to know your blood sugar, and then I'll leave you alone, man."

The patient seemed to understand and stopped fidgeting. Tigg got out a lancet and prepared it.

"You're gonna feel a little poke. One, two, three, poke."

He read the blood with the glucometer and put a bandaid on the patient's finger.

"Ok, dude, I'm done. You gonna tell me your name now?"

"..._Muufffuckaaa_..."

"Ok. It was a pleasure to meet you, too, sir," Tigg said, walking over to Welles and starting to ask him questions about the patient.

Starsky smiled as he waited by the door for his patient. Tigg was going to make a great medic. It almost made him feel like a proud parent.

The door behind Starsky finally opened, and as he turned around, he was pleasantly surprised to see Hutch standing there in his police uniform. It looked _really_ good on him. Starsky looked Hutch up and down, nodded approvingly, and winked at him. Hutch smiled back. Tigg noticed who Welles' partner was and looked at them for a second before reluctantly going back to filling out his run-sheet.

"Hello, there!" Hutch said, smiling at Starsky. He pointed towards the room with his thumb. "We're ready for you, now."

"Oh, good," Starsky said, smirking and fluffing his hair before putting on a pair of gloves. "I just got ready for my close-up. How do I look?"

"Terrific," Hutch laughed, leading Starsky into the back room.

The patient was sitting cross-legged on the floor, bent over with his face on the ground and his hands cuffed behind his back. He had jeans and socks on, but no shirt. His breathing was quick and he was making strange moaning sounds. Starsky could already tell his level of consciousness was altered, so he approached the patient carefully.

"Sir, I'm David Starsky. I'm a paramedic and I'm here to help you. Can you tell me what's going on?"

The patient didn't look up. He rocked back and forth and muttered things under his breath.

Starsky squatted down next to the patient. Hutch did the same.

"This is Travis," Hutch said.

"Hi, Travis. I'm just going to touch your wrist to take your pulse, ok?" Starsky said, slowly reaching out and touching the patient's wrist.

"Weapons...weapons..." The patient began to repeat. "No weapons..."

Despite the rocking the patient was doing, Starsky was able to get a pulse rate and write it down.

"Hey, Travis, when's your birthday?"

"No weapons. No weapons!" The patient continued his repetitive speech.

Starsky shook his head and turned to Hutch.

"History of Schizophrenia?" he asked in a soft voice.

Hutch nodded. "You probably won't get much out of him," he whispered. "He's been non-compliant with his meds lately. The bottle in the bathroom is three weeks old and it still has all the pills in it. We have a feeling he's been trying to self-medicate with amphetamines...we found enough under his bed to kill a horse."

Starsky made a face. "That's the last thing he should be taking for schizophrenia."

Hutch nodded. They both looked concerned as the patient's repetitive speech became louder and higher-pitched. Starsky and Hutch exchanged glances and in an instant knew what the other was thinking. Starsky handed Hutch his trauma shears and Hutch stood up slowly, leaving the room, but waiting at the door.

"No weapons! NO WEAPONS!"

The patient's rocking became more violent, and he started struggling against the cuffs.

"WEAPONS WEAPONS THEY HAVE WEAPONS!"

"Travis, it's ok, I'm right here. You're safe. There's no weapons," Starsky said calmly.

Travis looked at him, his eyes red and swollen like he had been crying. "No...weapons," he whined.

Starsky nodded at him. "There are no weapons. You're safe."

Travis squinted at him. "Safe..."

Starsky nodded again. "You're safe."

Travis looked down and was quiet for a second, then shook his head and started rocking again, struggling against the cuffs.

"Never safe NEVER SAFE NEVER SAFE NEVER SAFE THEY HAVE WEAPONS."

Starsky sighed and reached for the narc bag on his hip. Hutch walked back over to him and put his trauma shears back into his pocket, then he had to get up quickly and stop Travis from banging his head on the floor.

"It was worth a shot. You know if he has any allergies?" Starsky asked as he put together a Carpuject with a 2 mg vial of Valium.

"Not...that I...know of," Hutch said as he struggled to stuff a pillow between Travis' head and the floor. "Nothing in his belongings...to suggest it."

"NOT SAFE NEVER SAFE NEVER SAFE NEVER SAFE." Travis was yelling. He was really struggling against the cuffs and now he was trying the move his legs, looking like he might throw Hutch off-balance at any second.

"Hey, Welles? A little help in here, please!" Starsky called out into the hallway.

Welles jumped in from the hallway and helped Hutch hold Travis steady. He was a handful, though, and Hutch and Welles were both struggling to keep him down. Thankfully, the fire department had just arrived and part of the crew ran up to assist (the other part was helping Tigg with his patient). They were able to keep him stable with six guys holding him down.

"Travis, we're gonna give you some medicine to help you relax, ok?" Starsky said as he cleaned up Travis' deltoid with an alcohol prep and attached a needle to the Carpuject syringe.

"Live sharp," he warned the crew as he came closer with the needle.

"Ok, Travis, you're gonna feel a big poke. One, two, three, poke..."

Travis tensed up and yelled at the pain of the stick, but it was over before he knew it, and soon (about two minutes later), he _was_ relaxed, staring slack-jawed and blankly up at the ceiling.

Starsky was finally able to get a full set of vitals and check for any concealed injuries on Travis. He had a few bruises, but nothing that appeared life-threatening. His heart rhythm didn't look pathologic and his vital signs didn't look half-bad for somebody on amphetamines.

They requested another ambulance for the patient Tigg had assessed and enlisted the help of the firefighters to start IVs and prepare Travis for transport. Starsky stood up as he filled out part of his run sheet and walked over to Hutch.

"He's in protective custody, right?"

Hutch nodded. "You bet."

"Ok, can I have your autograph right here, then?" Starsky said with a lopsided grin, handing Hutch the run sheet and a pen.

"Anything for my number one fan," Hutch said, signing his name with a smirk on his face.

Starsky smirked at him. "And, of course, this means you'll be riding in with us?" Starsky said as he took back the run sheet."

"Indeed it does. I'll go give Welles the keys," Hutch said, walking toward his partner, who stood the doorway.

"Fantastic," Starsky said as he turned to walk back toward his patient.

-%-

After they had gotten Travis transferred to the nurse at Hendrickson, Starsky walked out into the hallway to find that Tigg had already gotten the sheets on the gurney changed and cleaned the frame and the belts.

"How did you get so fast at that, kid?"

Tigg smiled. "Well, y'know. I like to be efficient."

Starsky was about to say something when Hutch walked out of the room they had just been in and called to him.

"Hey, Starsk, are we still on for tonight?"

Tigg smiled, narrowed his eyes and said, "On? On for _what_?" before Starsky could answer, like he was out for some dirt.

"For dinner," Hutch said, completely straight-faced.

"_Ohh_?" Tigg said, raising his brows and looking at Starsky.

"Look, he's making dinner and his roommate is bringing a friend over," Starsky said. "I was invited."

"Uh-huh..." Tigg said slowly, looking wary like he thought they were hiding something.

"Oh, Starsk," Hutch said suddenly, "Olivia was wondering if you could help me fix a leak under the sink before Terri shows up?"

Starsky nodded. "Yeah, ok...they still haven't sent someone to fix that yet?"

Hutch shook his head. "And we've only called six times. But Terri's supposed to show up at 9, so..."

Tigg spoke up. "Wai-wait a minute," he jabbed a finger at Starsky. "_You're_ gonna help him fix a leak under his sink? _You_?"

Starsky furrowed his brows. "Yeah, _me_. What's so weird about that?"

"Do you even know anything about plumbing?!"

"You'd be surprised," Hutch said, "He's pretty smart, and he's _very_ good with his hands."

Hutch was suddenly called back into the room, leaving Starsky standing there with his head in his hand next to Tigg with an absolutely stunned, wide-eyed expression on his face.

After a long period of awkward silence, Tigg looked at Starsky.

"Ok, you cannot tell me you haven't slept with that man," Tigg said.

Starsky sighed, lifting his head up and looking fondly at the blonde cop through the sliding-glass door of the hospital room.

"Actually," he admitted, "I haven't..."

Tigg narrowed his eyes at him.

"Liar."

Starsky took one last fond look at the blonde cop before turning and looking Tigg dead in the eyes.

"Not yet."

THE END

-%-

_**AN:**_

DARN, that's the end! D: Thank you very much for reading/putting up with this story! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

I work as an EMT and I'm currently studying to become a paramedic, so I wanted to write this as a sappy love story with a kind of way for people to see what we EMTs do. Sadly we don't always get really hot patients, but every once in a while, there'll be one to watch out for. If you have no clue what some of these things were, I have written a glossary in hopes that it might help and I apologise for all of my crazy medical-field lingo. D:

**GLOSSARY OF TERMS:**

_**Level 14**_: This means that their ambulance service has 14 available trucks at the moment (tbh this almost never happens where I am).

**_31-Delta-1_**: Call code for an Unconscious patient with ineffective breathing

**_4-Alpha-1_**: Call code for an assault with non-life-threatening injuries

_**Glucometer**_: The device that reads blood sugar levels

_**Lancet**_: A small, spring-loaded needle designed for drawing a drop of blood when taking blood sugar

_**Trauma Shears**_: EMT scissors

_**Carpuject**_: a type of syringe that requires the attachment of a long, cylindrical medication vial (I'd suggest looking this one up on google images; it's a little hard to explain with words)

**DISCLAIMER: **

so...I've never been to Minnesota and I apologise if what I said is all kinds of inaccurate...please feel free to correct me if you happen to live there. :)

Also: Yes. Other medical professionals appreciate pretty external jugular veins just as much as a medic would. I can't really include everyone in a tiny little unimportant sentence, unfortunately. D:

Special thanks to leoblooms for the inspiring art and some of the dialogue for the coffee shop scene. XD


End file.
